Before I paint red the end stubs of
two-by-fours, I touch the tree rings;
is this the year the last grizzly
reigned in Colorado?
Life in the forest with everyone
absent. Tree rings mirror cosmic circles.
Secrets ring our lives. The soul dies
with secrets. Foolish to think
we know everything about ourselves.
Or that someone else can or does.
Tell me when my tree rings
will die. I will call you a fool.
I cover the end stubs with red paint.
Now, these secrets bleed forever.